Beautifully Fake
by Sofricus Aurora Zakuro
Summary: He had known, from the moment they first met, that his Dollie was not real. P/D, P/E
1. Ghosts of the Past

_Beautifully Fake_

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

He had always known his porcelain Dollie was not real. In some small, significant way, she had always been unreal to him.

In college, to a young, naïve child more "Feenie" than "Phoenix," she had been unreal in a _too good to be true _kind of way. No pink-sweater-wearing, constantly ill dork was really lucky enough to date a beautiful crystalline princess. Every day of their time together was a dream.

Then the dream had turned to nightmare and Doug was lying dead on the ground and a woman was telling him in a cold, clinical voice but he didn't know what she was saying except for _murder_. He didn't understand what was going on until his Dollie was accused of murder and he had to do something even though that wasn't real.

She existed, after all, in a dimension separate from the rest of humanity, in a small glass box to be admired and cherished and protected, look-but-don't-touch. To kill him she would have had to shatter the glass, and she hadn't, so she was innocent and the whole trial was nothing but a circus, an extravaganza of glittering fakery.

Then she vanished, like smoke, like the ethereal creature he'd always known her to be, his beautifully fake Dollie was gone and he was left with only very real sorrow and very real depression.

Iris hadn't been real either. The gorgeous, black-haired girl that was all the things good about Dollie with none of _evil _or _murder _hovering about her. And the "Dollie" that was within her, the "ghost" that had possessed her during that time—it wasn't real because Dollie wasn't dead. Gone, but not dead. And then Iris was gone too, and _see, he was right—_she hadn't been real either.

So when he opened the door one dark, rainy night to find his porcelain Dollie shivering and soaking, looking not a day older than she had in college, futilely holding her useless, dripping lace parasol above her head with both hands, he knew it wasn't real this time either. A dream, an illusion, a trick of his mind or more likely of his heart.

She smiled at him when he took that little glass hand and led her inside the door. She ever only smiled just a little, but in that smile was all the joy in the world and it was college and "Feenie" and "Dollie" all over again. He knew she wasn't real, but the happiness he was feeling was real, at least for now, so he didn't mind that all the rest of it was beautifully fake.

And he led a dripping-wet porcelain ghost of his past into the living room, sitting her down on his lap like a child, promising her hot tea and a warm bed for the night.

And his future came in through the door and saw his past sitting in the room and he cried and ran away, and Phoenix only smiled bemusedly because didn't he see that none of this was _real_?


	2. Fantasies of the Present

His porcelain Dollie tries to make him forget his future. Her sweet words urge him to drown in her fantasy for just a moment longer. And he does.

She tells him stories of what happened during her time in jail. He smiles like a parent letting their child tell them fairy tales, because jail is too cold and real for her—she was never in jail. She vanished to her little glass box to be completely unreal for awhile, only now returning, however insubstantially, to the real world for reasons unknown. (He hopes it was to be with him, but that, like her very existence, is too good to be true).

Then she asks him of his life, and his tongue feels heavy and weighted with lead but he tells her, tells her reluctantly, and then when he gets to the part with _him _in it, he looks up and he is at the door.

The reality of his future stands at the door with a knife in his hand, and points at the ghost of his past and yells, angry, a single word, _You._

She looks up at him, her eyes wide and fearful, and he fears even though he can't touch her (because she is not real). But he can break her glass box, shatter her crystalline shield into pieces, and _he can't let him do that to her. _

But it's too late, and there is blood on his hands, _her _blood, which he thinks might be real even though Dahlia is not. And there's blood on her ice-pale porcelain cheek, and blood on her ice-pale porcelain hands, and blood in her blood-colored hair, and the dream is a nightmare and she runs out the door and he stands, stands, just staring, caught between the ghost of his past and the reality of his future.

He tries to open his mouth and tell Edgeworth that he loves him, loves him deep and true and forever, but sometimes, just sometimes, he is too _real _and they are too _real. _Edgeworth is sweat and polished wood the press and rumors and the stink of scorn and scandal. Dollie is porcelain and crystal and fairy tales and a refreshing circus of glass fakery.

So caught between her lie and his honesty, Phoenix Wright chooses escape and runs into the darkness, following her white ghost-form.

_Dollie, _he yells, _Dollie, Dollie, it's all right, he doesn't mean it, _DOLLIE! He chases her and this _can't _be real, because why would he attack her and suddenly he isn't sure what is real anymore…..

…and then she is before him, his beautiful crystalline princess, his porcelain Dollie, reaching out a hand. And it's college again and too good to be true because nobody so beautiful could ever choose him, so she is not real….

…and then he hears him behind him, reality and sweat and honest love never tainted by lie or mockery. He's saying _don't do this Phoenix don't do this I love you I love you I love you I love you _and his words are real and his feelings are real….

Then he's grabbing him and kissing him furiously and it's TOO real and all he wants is ESCAPE and Escape is before him and he breaks from Reality's grasp and runs for her outstretched hand, and for a moment he's running backwards in time from the heat of Future's kiss into the ice of Past's smile…

…and there's darkness and he's falling and dying and he reaches for Dollie but she vanishes and he smiles contentedly; it's all right because _none of this is real. _


	3. Realities of the Future

He walks slowly to the front of the room, smelling wood polish and not looking at the faces he passes. Their expressions are uniform, all pity, an emotion he has no need for.

Pity mixed with curiosity, an emotion he is not sure how to deal with.

Or rather, he knows but does not want to. Yet he must. They were his friends too, and they deserve the truth.

"Phoenix Wright was….many things. He was my friend. He was your friend. He was once my attorney. He was an attorney to many of you. He saved my life, as he saved many of yours. He was also something more. He was my….my love."

Now he meets their eyes. The expressions are easier to deal with, less uniform—there is happiness, knowing, even a little hatred. The hatred is sharper now; once, he could deal with it, when he had _him _by his side. Now, each stare is a blow to his heart. But he continues. They deserve the truth.

They whisper, they think the speech is finished. It is not.

"Phoenix Wright was one other thing." His voice rings clear, emotionless, hard, flat. They are silent. This is the knowledge they came to obtain.

"He was….an unstable man." He continues before they can turn their heads towards their neighbor and begin discussing this new revelation. "For most of his life, Phoenix Wright suffered from hallucinations caused by an abnormality in his brain. He could not be cured—the doctors could never figure out what was causing the hallucinations. However, they were able to figure out that he first started having them as a college student. They were also able to discover, through Phoenix himself, that the hallucinations appeared to him in the form of a young girl, a girl he named 'Dahlia Hawthorne'."

Gasps now, intakes of breath, general shock. They had heard that name, many of them, during The Trial. But they were quiet, for they had a feeling he was going to talk about The Trial next.

"Initially, the hallucinations seemed quite harmless, save for the fact that he was convinced this 'Dahlia' existed. The doctors were made aware of Phoenix's problem when a fellow student reported to the school counselor at Ivy University that Phoenix had told her at length about his imaginary girlfriend, 'Dahlia Hawthorne'. They monitored his condition, took some tests in the guise of a check-up, but were unable to identify any problems with his brain. They decided that his hallucinations of 'Dahlia' were harmless enough, and they would ignore them. This was….a decision they regretted."

He was sure several doctors in the group were hanging their heads—they had a right too. He blamed them, at least in part.

"Now we come to the part of the story you all are familiar with. Phoenix Wright, now living almost entirely in a fantasy world with 'Dahlia' inside his own mind, perceived that a fellow student, Doug Swallow, was jealous of his girlfriend. He…." here his voice broke. "He killed him." Despite what happened, he had never been able to consider his Phoenix a murderer.

"Mia Fey managed to win Phoenix a not guilty verdict by pleading insanity. He did not go to jail—instead, he spent several years in a mental institution. He improved rapidly, and it seemed that 'Dahlia Hawthorne' no longer appeared—he spoke of her only in the past tense. The staff at the institution were concerned about one thing, however: Phoenix Wright was convinced that 'Dahlia' had been accused of Doug Swallow's murder and sent to jail.

His condition improved rapidly, and he was released. He began to study under Mia Fey, whom he worshipped like an idol, because he believed she had tried her hardest to free 'Dahlia' from the guilty verdict she had ultimately 'received.' Mia taught him, and he became a defense attorney." He smiled at Mia—she had always been a good friend to Phoenix. She managed a smile in return, though there were tears in his eyes.

"For years, Phoenix seemed completely cured, believing 'Dahlia' was in jail. Unfortunately, the hallucinations were triggered again when Phoenix defended a client, Iris Fey, who was physically similar to 'Dahlia Hawthorne'. Iris Fey had murdered Elise Deauxnim, and was eventually found guilty and sent to jail. However, Phoenix clearly believed—and attempted to claim during the trial—that spirit medium Iris was Dahlia's sister, and had been 'possessed' at the time of the murder. At my urging, he returned to the doctors—for reasons he did not understand—and they suggested re-institutionalizing him. However…." he turned away from Phoenix's friends, unable to face the accusation in their eyes, "….I loved him, and could not fathom living without him, and refused to allow him to return."

They blamed him for this, he knew, but what they didn't know was that he blamed himself as well. Blamed himself and all of them, the doctors and Iris and Doug Swallow and even Mia, for all the good she had done him, she had also served a reminder of 'Dahlia' for Phoenix.

"Again, he seemed cured, and we relaxed—sure that the reoccurrence of the hallucinations had been triggered by Iris Fey, and now that she was in jail, Phoenix would be fine. I…at one point, I almost believed that. Eventually, Phoenix and I began dating. We…we moved in together, and then married. We…we were together for three short years, happily married for one of them. I…" he was crying now and did not care, "I….I loved….love Phoenix Wright. He was a blessing to me, and the greatest thing to ever happen in my life. I thought…I thought for sure the dark times were over, for both of us….until I came home to find Phoenix sitting in the living room talking to Dahlia Hawthorne."

He almost couldn't go on—but he needed to finish the story. For their sake. For his sake. For Phoenix's sake.

"Terrified, I ran to get the phone and call the doctors, the mental institute, someone. But Phoenix, completely within his fantasy world with 'Dahlia,' accused me of pulling a knife out and hurting her. He ran for the door, apparently chasing after her. I…I ran….I ran after him….tried to explain….that I hadn't hurt her….that she wasn't real….that he was…that she was…."

Mia was there now, her arms around him, and somehow, he found himself able to go on, his voice calm and cold and clinical as though he were telling the story of someone he had never met.

"I was unable to stop Phoenix, and in chasing after 'Dahlia,' he fell down a steep embankment into a cold, rocky river. He….he died instantly."

To his surprise, there was silence. He breathed many times, then spoke the final words that needed to be said.

"Though she never set a single foot on this earth or breathed a single breath, I, Miles Edgeworth, find Dahlia Hawthorne guilty of the murder of my love, Phoenix Wright."


End file.
